Eleven and a Half Minutes
by Daisy Miller
Summary: It took them eleven and a half minutes to get back together. RL


_Disclaimer: Don't own. _

"Eleven and a Half Minutes"

Even now, a year later, she could remember him clearly, remember how his shirt was always untucked on one side, and his hair was always sticking up. She could remember the way he shrugged indifferently, but his eyes always showed he cared. She remembered the curve of his lips and the structure of his nose. She could remember the pattern of freckles across his back.

When the mind (or soul, she supposed would sound more appropriate) is ripped from another's company, it latches onto one memory; one tiny detail that lingers, forever preserving that other person in a manner that might not ring true.

In Luna's case her memory did ring true. There he was, standing in between Harry and Hermione, his shirt untucked and his hair messy.

"Hello Ronald," she said, walking over to him.

"Er . . . Hey, Luna," he replied, looking down at his untied shoes. Her eyes always made him nervous, mostly because they told him that he couldn't lie to her; she knew every part of him. He wished he knew every part of her, but after years of acquaintanceship, he realized that he knew nothing about her, besides what everyone else saw. He felt stupid for not knowing.

Hermione stared pointedly at Ron, wishing he would just apologize and stop acting so immature. It had been quite sometime since he had broken up with Luna, but there was a forlorn look in his eyes that led Hermione to believe that Ron was not quite over Luna. He hadn't shaved in a few days, and she was fairly certain that his shirt wasn't particularly clean. This was actually the first time she had seen Ron outside of his flat in months. In fact, Hermione had visited him yesterday to remind him about Harry's birthday party and found him sneaking a glance at a picture of Luna sitting on the windowsill, her knees pulled to her chest. Hermione gave him one last pointed stare and walked away, hoping he would grow up within the next five seconds and simply say he was sorry.

Ron turned to Harry, as if pleading for help now that his other best friend had abandoned him. Harry smiled and patted Ron on his shoulder, before joining Hermione on the other side of the room. Ron felt scared being alone with her. He wasn't afraid that she would be mad at him; he was afraid that she wouldn't care, that she wouldn't acknowledge their relationship that spanned seven months. He was afraid that she didn't love him.

"How have you been?" she asked. She had wanted to add "since the last time I saw you," but she didn't think it would be appropriate, considering the last time she had seen him he was yelling at her to stop talking about things that didn't exist.

The clock struck five o'clock, and she remembered that their relationship started precisely one year ago, at Harry's nineteenth birthday party, when Ron shyly kissed her on her cheek as she arrived at the party.

She hadn't expected their relationship to last very long, though. In fact, she knew full well what Ronald Weasley thought of her. She was a child to be humored for the sake of her ego. He had humored her for seven months, but found her incessant talk of non-existent creatures and happenings to be highly annoying, if only because they never stopped. He had told her to grow up, and she had pondered on his words heavily. After a long evaluation, she had decided that Ron didn't quite understand what it meant to grow up, and she hadn't spoken to him since. Although she thought of him often and hoped that he was doing okay, she was embarrassed to go to him; she was embarrassed to admit that the bed was cold without him sleeping next to her, and that the moon never looked quite as happy without him beside her. She was embarrassed to be something that he might not want.

"I'm . . .okay. You?" He took a quick drink of butterbeer, letting his eyes wander around the room, trying to act indifferent to her presence. Hermione was standing next to Harry, laughing at some joke. Ginny was standing with them, smiling. On the other side of the room, his mother was listening to something Fleur was saying. Bill walked over to Fleur and deposited a baby in her arms. Bill whispered something in Fleur's ear that made her smile and walked back over to Charlie and Percy.

"I've been all right, Ronald. I miss you sometimes, though."

Luna's ability to say the most obvious, uncomfortable and sometimes revealing things never failed. He flinched with guilt and mumbled something under his breath. He wanted to tell her he was sorry. He wanted to tell her that she was beautiful. He wanted to tell her that he loved her. He opened his mouth to tell her all these things and more . . . .

"I like your earrings," he said.

She smiled and shook her hair from her eyes, making the chocolate frogs biting her earlobes wiggle nervously. "Thank you. You like chocolate."

"Er . . . yes, I know that." He frowned and licked his lips. "Er . . . Luna? I–"

Suddenly, the room interrupted into a chorus of "Happy Birthday" and his next words were stolen by the noise. He looked helplessly at Luna as she sang along, throwing her whole heart into the song. She bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet and directed an invisible orchestra with her slender hand. Her hair was brushed back from her face and her neck was visible. Her skin was creamy and the curve of her shoulder as it disappeared under her white, polka dotted dress looked frail. She looked like glass. She looked like she hadn't seen the sun for months. She looked like she was an angel. There should have been wings sprouting from her back.

The singing ended and somehow they were shuffled apart by the guests rushing forward to get a slice of cake. Ron looked over the heads in front of him, searching for her, but it seemed as if she had vanished.

He sighed and smiled at Harry. "Happy birthday, Harry," he said, stuffing a spoonful of chocolate cake in his mouth. He swallowed. "Er, you didn't happen to see where Luna got to . . . did you?"

Harry smiled smugly. "I think I saw her talking to Charlie."

"Oh," he said. "I just . . ." He shrugged and looked around the room in a bored manner for a few seconds. "Yeah. I'll talk to you later Harry," he said, rushing towards the middle of the room.

He found Luna talking to Charlie about a breed of dragon that has never been discovered. It apparently lived in the folds of flowers in the small field in Sweden. She had found them while she was searching for the crumpled-horned snorkack a few weeks back, and she was sure Charlie would be interested in seeing them. Charlie was smiling politely, and Ron felt a little angered. Charlie obviously didn't think much of Luna's new breed of dragon, and he was simply humoring the girl. It felt like a great injustice.

He cleared his throat, and Charlie turned.

"Hey Ron," he said. "Luna was just telling me about a new breed of dragon she discovered. Why don't you two . . . discuss it . . . or something . . . ." Charlie quickly left them and disappeared in the crowd.

"Hello again Ronald. Haven't seen you in a while. Where have you been?"

"Around," he said with a shrug, hoping he looked suave. He didn't, but Luna smiled just the same.

"That's a nice place to be."

Her eyes were simply staring at him, waiting, and he couldn't make himself open his mouth. He was afraid he'd say something stupid, and she would walk away. "I'm . . . er."

"Ronald?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

He could feel the tips of his ears redden, and he stuttered for a few seconds, before his tongue sorted itself out, and he could say, "I love you too."

There was a clock behind him, and, as he leaned forward to kiss her, he noted that it read 5:11. His lips landed on hers, as the second hand was passing the six, and he heard the crowd behind him clap and cheer. He was fairly certain that Hermione was smiling widely, that Harry was laughing, that Fred and George were thinking of some joke to tease him with later, and that his mother probably had her hand over her mouth in shock while her brain rushed through various wedding dates. He was fairly certain that his face matched his hair, and he heard a few catcalls from behind him.

He didn't particularly care though, because Luna loved him.

_Fin_.


End file.
